


good in theory

by readtheroomfucko



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, harold they’re unicorn hunters!, i think we all hate steve okay, jen just wants to get laid au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readtheroomfucko/pseuds/readtheroomfucko
Summary: jen’s reasonable goal of a no strings attached hookup is thwarted by the sad reality of online dating culture.
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 15
Kudos: 85





	good in theory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lagunasnudebeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lagunasnudebeach/gifts).



> if you want somebody to blame, take it up with the laguna beach retirement home gc. they forced my hand. i promise there’s no jen/steve in here (i’d rather die).

It wasn’t that Jen was embarrassed about a nearly two year long dry spell — who could blame her? She was with Ted for close to twenty years, for fuck’s sake. She didn’t know the first thing about flirting anymore and, to make matters worse, the modern dating scene made her feel like she’d stumbled into a parallel universe. She wasn’t embarrassed, thank you very much, but she  _ was _ becoming increasingly frustrated _.  _

She wasn’t looking for a replacement Ted; more like a replacement Hitachi. One random hookup to break the seal, so to speak. She’d brought it up with Chris over drinks one night, even stooping as low as to ask him for tips, but Chris had just laughed, sputtering out, “Good luck on Grindr, honey.”

Jen quickly discovered that Grindr wasn’t much use to her. 

So here she was, 48 years old, making a fucking Bumble account, trying to figure out what the fuck bees had to do with getting laid. As she swiped through profile after profile of men proudly displaying dead fish like Olympic gold medals, it became evident: the men on this app were probably desperate enough to stick their dicks in a beehive.

Finally, she found him. The lesser of at least a hundred evils —  _ Steve.  _ His profile was decidedly cringe-worthy but free of any dead animals or scans of old frat house polaroids. 

_ 46 years young. CEO. Bilingual. Lover of art, antique cars, and good company. UCLA Anderson grad, class of ‘97.  _

Judging by the array of photos that looked like they’d been copied straight from his LinkedIn and the showboating of an MBA that was old enough to apply for a fucking mortgage, Jen got the distinct impression that this guy’s favourite work of art was his own face in a mirror. Apparently beggars  _ really _ couldn’t be choosers these days. 

She continued scrolling down the profile, landing on a photo of Steve and a smiling brunette leaning against the side of an antique powder blue Mustang. The way the woman was cuddled into his side, arms wrapped around his torso, screamed  _ girlfriend _ , but surely a man who planned on cheating on his partner wouldn’t include her picture in his fucking dating profile?

Jen adjusted her glasses, squinting at the screen. She could almost see a resemblance between them; both prototypical Californian fortysomethings with blinding smiles and sun-kissed skin. They looked like siblings when she really thought about it. His sister.  _ Weird, but okay.  _

With a sigh, she swiped right, her phone vibrating in her hand. 

Match. 

* * *

  
  
  


“Why do you look so fancy, Mom?” Henry prodded, clinging to her arm as she tried to usher the both of them through Lorna’s doorway. 

“I’m curious as well, Jennifer,” Lorna interjected with an arched brow, “Christopher informed me that you were needed for a showing this evening. This seems a little excessive, don’t you think?”

Jen tried to smile through her discomfort, “These are my work clothes. It’s a high-end listing; I’m only trying to make a good impression.”

“And yet your sales are still lackluster,” she sighed, “I worry those cheap tricks might be more suited to a  _ younger _ demographic.”

Jen tensed, her hands curling into fists at her sides, and the smile dropped from her face. 

“Okay, boys,” she shook Henry’s hand off of her arm and gave Charlie a gruff shove forward, “Go spend some quality time with your grandmother. She won’t be around forever.”

Before Lorna could respond, Jen was halfway to her car, cursing under her breath. If all went according to plan, she’d be pleasantly drunk and riding out an orgasm in a stranger’s bed in just a few short hours. The orgasm might have been a little optimistic, but a girl could dream. At the very least, she wouldn’t be curled up in bed alone that night. It was starting to wear on her, the lack of connection she felt in her life. A one night stand was a poor substitute for real intimacy, but it was something.

Steve had chosen the venue for their date; an overpriced hole in the wall bar frequented by blue bloods who liked to roleplay the starving artist lifestyle. Chris had nearly lost his mind when Jen had told him over lunch, ranting animatedly over a date that had taken him to the same bar years ago. How he’d had to hold his tongue for hours listening to his date, whose father owned a record company, talk about his gruelling journey to becoming a music producer. 

The fact that Steve was most likely an irredeemable douche that Jen would want nothing to do with outside of the bedroom did little to quell her anxiety. What was she supposed to say? Hi, I’m Jen. Your personality makes me gag — wanna fuck?

When she arrived at the bar, she found Steve at a table near the back and introduced herself. He looked like his photos which Jen assumed she should be grateful for. He was attractive in an aggravating way; all too aware that men like him generally had carte blanche to do whatever with whomever. 

Jen started drinking right away, brushing off Steve’s teasing inquiry into whether or not he made her nervous with a flippant, “Long day at work. Don’t ask.”

Steve didn’t make her nervous, he made her  _ nauseous.  _ Why had she thought this was a good idea? 

After polishing off her first glass of wine and making a dent in the second, Jen was starting to think she should just bite the bullet and ask if Steve wanted to go home with her. The more he talked about his work, the closer Jen got to passing out at the table.

“As much as I’m enjoying this — and I really am,” she lied, “Do you want to take this somewhere more private?”

Steve agreed, a mischievous glint in his eye as he waved over their server to pay the bill, and before Jen could process what was happening, she was driving behind Steve’s Mustang to Newport. 

When she finally arrived, Jen sucked in a sharp breath. The house was obscene, really. All sharp angles and sterile, mid-century modern decor. She sat down on the couch and accepted the glass of wine Steve offered, once again doubting all of the decisions that had led her here. 

“So you’re bi, right?” Steve asked, taking a sip of his beer, his hand resting on Jen’s thigh.

Jen choked on her drink, “Excuse me?”

“Bisexual. Like, girls and guys, right?” he expanded and Jen shot him a pointed look. 

“How is that relevant?”

Before he could respond, Jen’s attention was ripped away by a slamming door and a very flustered woman running into the living room. 

“Gosh, I’m so sorry I’m late,” she explained frantically, “I got held up at work.”

Jen’s jaw went slack as she took in the woman in front of her. The woman from Steve’s profile.  _ Oh, fuck.  _

Jen felt herself jolt into self-preservation mode, leaping away from Steve on the couch to put distance between them. 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” she insisted earnestly. 

Really, none of this was  _ her  _ fault, but if Jen had walked in on Ted and whatever co-ed he’d been fucking before the accident, she wasn’t certain the poor girl wouldn’t have been caught in the crossfire. 

The woman laughed, light and airy, “Oh, I think it’s  _ exactly  _ what it looks like. And I’m fine with it, obviously _.  _ Totally fine.” 

She was rambling, fiddling nervously with the rings on her fingers. Jen looked at her in disbelief and she smiled, raising her hands to push chestnut brown curls behind her ears, “Hi. I’m Judy.”

“Yeah, uh,” Steve chuckled, “That would be why it’s relevant. Judy is my fiancée.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jen muttered, slamming back the rest of her wine and standing up. “I think it’s time for me to head home,” she announced with a tight smile.

Judy looked between the two of them, her face creasing with worry, before turning to Steve, “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“I just did, didn’t I?”

“Steve!” she protested weakly, “You told me she knew.”

Jen did her best to tune out their bickering, grabbing her purse and cursing the way she wobbled in her heels. In hindsight, that last glass of wine was a terrible idea, but she certainly hadn’t anticipated her night ending with her being stuck in the middle of a domestic in some asshole’s McMansion. 

As she made her way past Judy, she stumbled, Judy’s arms shooting out to steady her. 

Judy gave her a pleading look, “Look, I know this is awful and I am  _ so _ sorry, but can I drive you home? You’ve been drinking and —“

“Oh my God!” Jen snapped, “Don’t fucking touch me, okay? I’ll fucking drive myself.”

Judy frowned, pulling her lower lip between her teeth, and Jen thought about Ted; how much of a fucking hypocrite she’d be if she drove drunk after everything that had happened. She let out a huff. 

“Fine. But  _ he _ ,” she jabbed a finger in Steve’s direction, “is staying right here.”

Five minutes into the drive to Laguna Beach, Judy spoke up. 

“I’m sorry for touching you back there. I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries, I swear.”

Jen scoffed, “You didn’t mean to  _ cross any boundaries? _ Seriously?”

Judy swallowed hard and stared ahead at the road, her hands trembling on the steering wheel. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice small and frail. 

Jen pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse and placed one between her lips. “Do you mind?” she mumbled. 

“Oh, of course not,” Judy waved a hand dismissively, “I’ll just get it cleaned and detailed tomorrow.”

Jen raised an eyebrow, “The whole car?”

“The smell sticks in the seats. It’s totally fine, though. Steve bought me this car for my birthday last year, I just have to keep it in good condition in case he wants to sell it.”

Jen sighed and returned the cigarette to its pack, “You don’t even like women, do you?”

Judy turned to her, giving her a puzzled look, “What do you mean?”

“I mean he totally put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“No!” she sputtered, “It was completely my idea.”

“Really? Then why weren’t  _ you _ the one messaging me?”

Judy let out an audible breath, seeming to deflate in front of her, “ _ Fine _ . He brought it up and I didn’t say no.”

Jen shook her head, “I fucking knew it.”

“But I’m not just some poor straight girl who got roped into a threesome. You have every right to be mad at me. God, I feel so fucking  _ gross _ right now.”

The longer she sat in the car with Judy, the less she understood why this soft-spoken, demure little mouse of a woman was engaged to somebody like Steve. She’d clearly had absolutely fucking nothing to do with any of this and the knowledge made Jen feel sick. 

She hated men who dated women like her and Judy and treated them like a fucking fetish. She’d been with a man like Steve before Ted; someone who made her feel like her past relationships with women existed for his benefit.

“You’re not gross, Judy,” she groaned, “I’m pretty fucking mad, but I’m not mad at you. Trust me, you’d know.”

“I’m sorry we ruined your night,” Judy replied quietly. 

“I’m sorry your fiancé’s such a dick,” Jen shot back.

Judy just shrugged, her grip tightening on the steering wheel, “He’s been through a lot.”

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, Jen speaking only to give directions. Finally, Judy pulled into Jen’s driveway and Jen stepped out.

Just as she was about to head in, she turned back to Judy, “How am I getting my car back?”

“I’ll drop it off in the morning.” Judy pulled her phone out of her pocket and grimaced, “Jesus, it’s late. Sorry, I probably could’ve taken a faster route.”

What was it with this woman and apologizing? Jen wouldn’t have been surprised if Judy apologized to the pavement of her driveway for stepping on it. 

“It’s fine,” Jen brushed it off, “I hardly sleep anyway.”

Judy chuckled. “You too? If you wanted, you could call me some time,” she offered, “We could like,  _ not sleep _ together.”

Jen wasn’t sure why she didn’t just walk away. Her evening had been a total shit show and here she was, yet again, alone on a Friday night. It was the tiny part of her that felt bad for Judy, she reasoned, that made her hesitate. Jen would rather be alone than go home to someone like Steve. 

Maybe there was a part of Judy that fit with a man like him hidden behind pink cheeks and uncertain smiles. Or maybe she’d just swanned into a semi-comfortable life and gotten stuck in it, ‘good enough’ fixing her in place like quicksand under her feet. Jen knew what that felt like. 

“Sure,” she relented, fishing her phone out of her purse, “Give me your number.”

Judy recited the number and Jen typed it into her notes app before turning to leave with a halfhearted wave. When she reached the door, Judy called out to her again. 

“Hey! What’s your name?”

Jen let out a breathy laugh despite her sour mood, shaking her head. 

“Jen!”

“Goodnight, Jen!”

She rolled her eyes, unlocking the door, “Goodnight, Judy.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if i should continue this!


End file.
